


The Om Nom Job

by viklikesfic (v_angelique)



Category: Leverage
Genre: Animal Play, Community: kink_bingo, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-23
Updated: 2010-06-23
Packaged: 2017-10-10 06:44:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/96778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/v_angelique/pseuds/viklikesfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Parker is Eliot's very annoying cat.  That's really all you need to know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Om Nom Job

**Author's Note:**

> You could read this, incidentally, as gen friendship fic or as a relationship or as OT3 with Alec not involved at the moment or really as whatever the heck you want to. Intentionally vague.

It wasn't intentional when they started doing it. It just sort of happened, and it happened more and more often, and it took a more obvious form, until the rest of the crew stopped noticing or caring and just let them go with it.

Now, Eliot doesn't bat an eye when Parker curls up on the sofa in a hoodie and bare feet, head in his lap, hand kneading at his thigh. She sniffs a bit and then she settles, letting him pet her hair as he drinks his beer, as he and Hardison watch the game on the big screen. She closes her eyes and naps for a bit, then wakes up and opens her mouth demandingly for a Cheeto.

What's kind of distracting is that Parker actually does purr. It's a quiet, almost inaudible sound in the back of the throat, a little rumbling when Eliot scritches her neck, and he's not sure how he feels about it. He feels more and more protective of her, though, and while he can't express that in missions, here he can pet her and offer homemade nibbles from his hand, and feel like he's a competent caretaker. He's not quite sure what to make of that.

Parker also licks, and while that's often more annoying than endearing, it's another little tic that Eliot has become accustomed to. She licks his palm after she eats a bite from it, and then she licks his wrist, and sometimes she bites it lightly and he has to give her neck a warning squeeze. She responds with a dissatisfied growl, and they stare at one another for a moment, until she finally settles back down with a little kitty grumble and goes back to kneading.

There's one job that Eliot remembers quite clearly for the rattled feeling after the action of the day, when they came back to headquarters and it was night and he was drunk and everyone else had called it a night and Parker lay in her usual spot, licking a cut on his hand. He watched her tongue lap at the dried blood, and he _really_ wasn't sure what to think. He coughed and gave her head a pat and declared it time for bed, and she inclined her head to one side and made a displeased sound, head-butted his hip, and then fell asleep on the sofa. He wondered after the fact if he was supposed to invite her to come with him.

There hasn't been a moment quite like that since. Sometimes she snarls at him, sometimes she paws at his hair and he wants to tell her that she's being ridiculous, to quit it and use her words. But he can't, no more than any of them can really make any independent decisions these days. The cohesiveness of the group is something Eliot surprisingly doesn't question, except when he's forced to, and he'd defend Parker's eccentricities with his fists and/or heavy artillery if asked. And then they're back there again, her head in his lap, her tongue lapping at a bowl of ice cream that he holds steady for her, his hand in her hair. He wouldn't have it any other way.


End file.
